conducting my own research. I’ll take up the story where I believe he left off. He was indeed unfortunate enough to be a victim of the Nazis. That much is true. I have heard his story, and I sympathize deeply with him. He has even told you the truth up to the time of his arrival and subsequent moderate success here in New Orleans. But in 1987, his story begins to involve me, and my family.”
There was that ominous tone again under the words “my family.”
“One of the many divisions of Artemis Holdings is an investment group. We have a public brokerage and advisory service, but we do more work with private clients of considerable means who seek specialized investment services. We have just opened, as a matter of fact, a new mutual fund managed by my daughter, that specializes in what is known today as ‘socially conscious’ companies.”
She gave what Nick supposed was, for her, a chuckle.
“A fad of political correctness married to the age-old blind altruism of youth. But the demand among my daughter’s generation seems to be there. I venture to say they will one day realize that money and conscience cannot coexist in the same boardroom. Inevitably, when there is a choice to be made, it will be conscience that yields. My daughter seems to believe the pious claims of company officers…forgive me this little digression. I am proud of my daughter, even though she has much to learn.
“Now, Max Corban. I’ll refrain from going into the details of his complaints. I can see you are not at home discussing financial matters of these kinds.”
Right she was. Nick was usually searching for spare change between the cushions of his couch, not pondering interest rates and the Dow.
“Artemis was found blameless by the appropriate regulatory entities. So, I will simply say that Mr. Corban, like many investors, suffered severe paper losses in the crash of ’87. Unnerving, yes; irreversible, no. He had consistently chosen the riskiest portfolio allocation. His downfall was primarily his own doing.
“But Max–I call him that, because at one time we were on cordial terms–Max would not listen to me and my staff. He blamed us, and sold. As you may know, the markets enjoyed substantial subsequent gains, with intermittent losses.”
“Of course,” Nick said. “Who doesn’t?”
She got his sarcasm. A shadow of amusement. “In fact, we did very well in 1990, considering the extent of that pullback; we had learned a great deal from ’87. I believe that Max could have recouped all his losses and made a handsome profit in a very short time, if he had listened to us. A historic bull market appears to be taking shape even as we speak.
“My opinion, however, is not what Max wants now. He wants revenge. He is a sick, paranoid man, bent on destroying me. You are helping him do that. He intends to blackmail me with certain information about this ancestor of mine, this Balazar. Specifically, that he was born into the Jewish faith.”
“Why don’t you file a complaint for harassment or something, take him to court? I’m sure it’s not for lack of lawyers at your beck and call,” Nick said.
Natalie Armiger waved a hand in the air dismissively. She could have been shooing away a pesky insect. Nick sensed that the mosquito had become a hornet.
“Max would like that, I’m certain. No. Such steps would not bring to this dilemma the thoroughness, expertise, and–as you mentioned–confidentiality I expect from you.”
It sounded more like a warning than a tribute.
“What do you need me for? You already know more about this ancestor than I do,” Nick said. “Knock yourself out, prove whatever it is you’re trying to prove.”
She smiled faintly, a master chess player watching her opponent make a stupid move.
“In my case, knowledge is not enough. What I do know is this: my ancestor came to this country, he prospered, he sired heirs, he made more powerful friends than he made enemies, he died. Not such a
There was that ominous tone again under the words “my family.”
“One of the many divisions of Artemis Holdings is an investment group. We have a public brokerage and advisory service, but we do more work with private clients of considerable means who seek specialized investment services. We have just opened, as a matter of fact, a new mutual fund managed by my daughter, that specializes in what is known today as ‘socially conscious’ companies.”
She gave what Nick supposed was, for her, a chuckle.
“A fad of political correctness married to the age-old blind altruism of youth. But the demand among my daughter’s generation seems to be there. I venture to say they will one day realize that money and conscience cannot coexist in the same boardroom. Inevitably, when there is a choice to be made, it will be conscience that yields. My daughter seems to believe the pious claims of company officers…forgive me this little digression. I am proud of my daughter, even though she has much to learn.
“Now, Max Corban. I’ll refrain from going into the details of his complaints. I can see you are not at home discussing financial matters of these kinds.”
Right she was. Nick was usually searching for spare change between the cushions of his couch, not pondering interest rates and the Dow.
“Artemis was found blameless by the appropriate regulatory entities. So, I will simply say that Mr. Corban, like many investors, suffered severe paper losses in the crash of ’87. Unnerving, yes; irreversible, no. He had consistently chosen the riskiest portfolio allocation. His downfall was primarily his own doing.
“But Max–I call him that, because at one time we were on cordial terms–Max would not listen to me and my staff. He blamed us, and sold. As you may know, the markets enjoyed substantial subsequent gains, with intermittent losses.”
“Of course,” Nick said. “Who doesn’t?”
She got his sarcasm. A shadow of amusement. “In fact, we did very well in 1990, considering the extent of that pullback; we had learned a great deal from ’87. I believe that Max could have recouped all his losses and made a handsome profit in a very short time, if he had listened to us. A historic bull market appears to be taking shape even as we speak.
“My opinion, however, is not what Max wants now. He wants revenge. He is a sick, paranoid man, bent on destroying me. You are helping him do that. He intends to blackmail me with certain information about this ancestor of mine, this Balazar. Specifically, that he was born into the Jewish faith.”
“Why don’t you file a complaint for harassment or something, take him to court? I’m sure it’s not for lack of lawyers at your beck and call,” Nick said.
Natalie Armiger waved a hand in the air dismissively. She could have been shooing away a pesky insect. Nick sensed that the mosquito had become a hornet.
“Max would like that, I’m certain. No. Such steps would not bring to this dilemma the thoroughness, expertise, and–as you mentioned–confidentiality I expect from you.”
It sounded more like a warning than a tribute.
“What do you need me for? You already know more about this ancestor than I do,” Nick said. “Knock yourself out, prove whatever it is you’re trying to prove.”
She smiled faintly, a master chess player watching her opponent make a stupid move.
“In my case, knowledge is not enough. What I do know is this: my ancestor came to this country, he prospered, he sired heirs, he made more powerful friends than he made enemies, he died. Not such a
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